


The Haircut

by emilyshee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is mentioned but does not appear, Dramatic Irony, Gen, Pre-Cecilos, clueless Carlos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyshee/pseuds/emilyshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon after he comes to Night Vale, Carlos visits Telly the barber for a haircut.  This is what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“We are very concerned about the lingering effects of yesterday’s incident,” Carlos announced to the crowd that had gathered for the mayor’s press conference. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be making an announcement here, but the scientists had found that if Carlos stood on the edges of any crowd and shouted with enough earnestness about danger and science and his worry about the town, his presence would be tolerated and people would hear what he had to say. They very rarely _listened_ , but he always had their attention. Though he found it a little unnerving the way that everyone’s gaze always seemed to be directed slightly above where he expected it to be, as if they were unwilling to make eye contact.

“Clouds are not supposed to glow,” Carlos went on, “This suggests a high degree of radioactivity. I urge everyone to stay indoors until we’ve finished checking for residual radiation. And anyone who experienced memory loss should come to the lab at your earliest convenience for a brain scan. It is very, very important that we check for neurological damage!”

“It’s kind of you to offer,” said Old Woman Josie, walking up to him, “But people are busy! If we stopped to get our brains scanned after every little bout of supernatural memory erasure, we’d hardly have time for anything else!”

“But the damages could be permanent and irreparable!”

“Then there’s hardly a point in identifying them, is there? I’m sure Cecil would be happy to come in and support your science, but I doubt you’ll get anyone else.”

Cecil? Oh, right, the radio host. He _was_ very supportive of the team’s scientific endeavors, always checking back with them for updates on their experiments and announcing whatever they asked him to on the air. But Carlos, he reflected with chagrin, did not return the favor by supporting his radio show, even though Cecil had been so very welcoming. He made a mental note to make an effort to catch his show some time, as soon as there stopped being emergencies to deal with. But right now, he had to impress on everyone the importance of taking this seriously.

“You have to understand that your lives and your sanity could at this very moment be in mortal peril!” he shouted, waving his clipboard.

“That’s nice dear,” said Josie, and she reached up and patted his hair. A wistful sigh went up from the entire crowd, though Carlos did not understand why, and they began to disperse.

Carlos smoothed back his hair where she had touched it (if pressed, he would have to admit that he’d always been a bit vain about his hair) and noticed that it was starting to get a bit longer than he liked. He made another mental note: _as soon as you have time, get a haircut!_ But for now, he went back to the car, put on his hazmat suit, and began following the Glow Cloud’s route with his Geiger counter.

* * *

It was nearly two weeks before he finally managed to make the time to follow through with his intention to get a haircut. Telly had been recommended to him as a pleasant and careful barber, and Carlos was pleased when he walked into the shop to find pictures of combs and a wall of mirrors, instead of the impossibly vision-warping statues or swirling vortexes of nothingness that festooned the walls of so many other Night Vale businesses. (Carlos found attempting to observe these phenomena and take notes both irresistible and distracting.)

“You will not regret putting your perfect hair in my hands, Mr. Scientist,” said Telly, gesturing to the posters on his wall, “Hair is not just my job. It is my passion: my life.”

Carlos smiled at him and allowed himself to be led to a chair.

“Don’t take too much off,” Carlos said, as he sat down, “I want it shorter for the desert heat, but I like it long enough to curl a bit.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Telly said, as he fluidly wrapped a plastic cape around Carlos and velcroed it behind his neck, “You have no need to worry.”

Telly picked up a comb and a pair of silver scissors in one hand and began running his fingers through Carlos’s hair with the other, as though deciding where to start.

“I have never had the opportunity to cut a head of hair like this,” ruminated Telly, as he continued separating Carlos’s hair into bunches, “It is truly an honor to be given charge of such perfection.”

Carlos felt a tug as Telly began pawing at his hair more forcefully. He tried to protest, but found that since the plastic cape had been put over him, he could not move, not even to open his mouth.

“To have the power to preserve, perhaps even to improve, its state of grace. Or the power to _defile it.”_

On the last words, Telly’s voice went dark and low. He stood still for a moment, and in the mirror Carlos could see him wavering, as if facing a deep internal struggle. Then suddenly a manic light came into his eyes and Telly swooped down on his hair.

He began grabbing at chunks of hair, running his fingers through each before cutting large swaths off, seemingly at random. Carlos wanted to wince as his hair was pulled and prodded, but he still couldn’t move beneath the plastic sheet, and he couldn’t look away from the unnatural gleam in Telly’s eyes, which were now glowing green in the mirror. Carlos felt sick and anxious.

Telly grabbed a fistful of hair and lopped it all off, then brought it up to his nose and breathed in deeply. _That is highly unprofessional!_ thought Carlos indignantly, as he tried again to get up from the chair. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt a cold sweat break out on his skin. He tried to remind himself that this was nothing to worry about, this was just a haircut – but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being _violated_. Behind him, Telly let out a moan that was deep and almost orgasmic, and he kept snipping and cutting in a frenzy.

When he finally finished, he was breathing deeply, as if he had just run a marathon.

Slowly, the fiendish light went out of Telly’s eyes, and he began to look more like the friendly barber who had greeted Carlos when he first came into his shop. He brushed the cuttings away from Carlos’s shoulders with a professional air, then he removed the plastic cape and looked over his handiwork. A look of dawning horror came over his face.

“ _What have I done?!”_ Telly cried, as he backed away from Carlos with his hands over his mouth, “ **What. have. I. DONE!?”**

“You’ve – you’ve.” Carlos took his eyes away from Telly’s reflection and looked at himself in the mirror for the first time, “You’ve _given me a bad haircut!”_ he spluttered.

The weirdness of what he had just experienced was immediately forgotten in his shock at what he saw.  He almost couldn’t believe it. He had never had a bad haircut! Never! Certainly it hadn’t always looked as good as his current style, but nothing he had done with it – the ponytail he had worn in high school, the fauxhawk he’d sported in college, even the extremely short Caesar cut he’d gotten at the start of grad school when he’d begun applying for internships and wanted to look professional – had ever looked _bad._ It had always fallen perfectly in place, forming a supreme example of whatever look he chose to pursue. He would not have believed that his own hair could look this awful. Tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes as he ran his hand disbelievingly over the shorn – yes, that was the only word for it, _shorn_ – remains of his hair.

Telly let out a sob and fled into a back room, slamming the door behind him. Carlos was left alone with the bat-winged teenage boy who was sweeping up the hair cuttings. He was outraged! Well, he certainly wasn’t paying for this haircut. Carlos stormed out of the shop.

He made it almost ten feet down the sidewalk before guilt made him turn around and go back. He had never not paid for anything in his life and even though he was angrier than he ever remembered being, he found that he still couldn’t do so now.

“How much does a haircut here usually cost?” he asked the boy who was still pushing his broom. The teenager mutely held up five fingers, and Carlos throw a five dollar bill down by the cash register. _But he was not leaving a tip._ (Well, he did give a dollar to the kid sweeping the floor because he didn’t do anything wrong, but he put it right into the boy’s hand and purposefully left nothing for Telly.)

Carlos stormed out again, feeling slightly vindicated, but as he caught sight of his reflection in a bakery’s front window, not leaving a tip for the first time in his life didn’t feel like enough. Carlos vowed to seek vengeance by doing something else that he had never done before: so help him, _he was going to leave a negative Yelp review!_

Thus determined, Carlos hurried towards the lab, hoping to get inside before anyone saw him like this, when a sudden gasp made him turn.

A man whom he had seen around town but whom he had never spoken to before was pointing a shaking finger at his hair.

“ _Who_ ,” the stranger said, in a trembling voice, “ _Who did this to you?”_

“Telly the barber!” Carlos said indignantly, “I would certainly think twice before going to get a haircut from him!”

As Carlos turned to leave, he saw the man take a cell phone out of his pocket, but he hurried on without giving a thought to who the man might be calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the new top contender for "most ridiculous thing I have ever written." Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Edited to Add: Now see second chapter for more ridiculousness.


	2. Epilogue

Telly grimaced as he heard the chants of "Traitor!" shouted from the crowd forming a circle around his shop.  Ever since that damn Cecil's radio show, the whole town was out to get him.  Not that he blamed them, of course.  Cecil had been right.  Luridly admiring Carlos's hair was one of the few pleasures left in this town, where privacy and safety were out of the question and even the sky could drive you mad.  He had done it himself, staring out the window of his barbershop when the scientist passed, happy to gaze on such perfection.  There are so few perfect things in this world.

And now that past-time was denied him, as it was denied everyone else.  That was probably what had made him do it.  He had always been so conscientious before about giving his customers a cut that fulfilled both their wishes and his own opinion of what would look best on them. He was a master of it.  But knowing that, with this haircut, he would affect not only one man but the entire town; knowing that the platonic ideal of hair was sitting in his barber's chair, his to do with as he liked, his to protect or his to destroy - well, he'd gone drunk on the power of it.  Like a child stomping on his sandcastle for the sheer joy of watching it be crushed under his own feet, even knowing that he will cry later because his sandcastle is gone.  The temptation had proved to much.

And he regretted it now, he reflected, holding the butchered tufts of Carlos's hair in his hands as his tears dripped on them.  Oh, how he regretted it.  But hair, as every barber knows, grows back - and Carlos's would grow back as perfect as ever before.  And in the meantime, the town would find new enemies.  An interloper would come in and threaten their way of life, or Steve Carlsberg would go on another unforgivable crusade against their loving and responsible government.  The town would move on, and the town would forget - even the mob out there right now, brandishing their makeshift weapons and bellowing at him.  Carlos might never forget or forgive; indeed, Telly would be surprised if he did, which was a shame - if Telly had just done his job right, had cared for that hair like any art-restorer reverently touching up a masterpiece, as he should have done, then he could have that perfection back in his chair every few months for a trim.  And Cecil might never forgive him either (it wasn't yet clear whether he was in love with the scientist or with the scientist's hair), but he was just one man, even if he did have a radio show.  No one listened to _everything_ that Cecil Palmer said.

So Carlos would never sit in his chair again, and Cecil would badmouth him on the radio.  That was not ideal - the very thought of another barber being given the task of maintaining Carlos's perfect hair made him grit his teeth, and he winced to picture himself as a subject for Cecil's ridiculous "editorials."  But these things were survivable.  He could still recover from this.

Then a little electronic notification noise sounded from his computer.  Ahh, he had a new Yelp review! One of his regular customers, probably, showing him loyalty in his time of need. Just the thing to take his mind off the chanting mob outside, and the noise of his own regrets.  But his heart sank as he saw the username of the reviewer:  Scientist615

 

> I was extremely disappointed in the haircut I received today at Telly's Barbershop.  I was given a haircut that was not personally flattering at all and that was in direct contradiction to my instructions to "take off only a little" and "leave it long enough to curl."  This is the worst my hair has ever looked.  Also, the haircutting experience itself was deeply unpleasant as I found myself paralyzed in the chair, unable to move or protest while Telly did many disturbing and unprofessional things, such as sniffing the shorn locks of my hair and emitting gutteral moans.
> 
> I will never get my hair cut here again and I strongly advise against anyone else ever doing so!!!
> 
> The place was, however, clean and well-lit, and the barber's chair was comfortable.

He had given Telly's one star.

Telly stared at the screen in horror.  Hair would grow back, the town would forget, but a one-star Yelp review - _a one-star review was forever!_

Telly tore at his own hair before stuffing the tattered remains of Carlos's coif and his best pair of scissors into his pocket.  Howling in despair and remorse, Telly tore through the back door of his shop.  The crowd parted before him and he ran off into the desert, cursing the sky and his own misdeeds, knowing he could never return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Telly's exile and subsequent madness were actually Carlos's fault!
> 
> I probably shouldn't have written this down so quickly as this idea for a better ending struck me in the shower about an hour after I posted. Sorry for clogging up the first page of results twice in one day.


End file.
